


Subconscious

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: There’s a bug in the Zen Garden.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 91





	Subconscious

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Even after some time together and the positive progression of their relationship, Hank can often be a difficult detective to work with. It’s not his gruff attitude anymore, not his tardiness or his cantankerous disregard for some of Connor’s more advanced theories, but the way the light catches in his silver hair and the lines of his face when he smiles. The more time Connor spends with Hank, the more he starts to notice that Hank’s build isn’t so much doughy as _strong_ , yet soft and _thick_ , and somehow the coarse hairs on his large arms steal Connor’s attention when he rolls his sleeves up past his elbows. Sometimes he draws his scraggly hair back into a ponytail, sweeping it out of his handsome face, and that _really_ plays havoc on Connor’s program. Connor tells himself he’s an investigator, the best one on the market, so of course he’s going to notice things. He’s _supposed_ to notice things. It’s not his fault that his partner has so many scintillating details to observe.

It will be his fault if scanning Hank Anderson becomes a distraction so great that Connor’s work suffers. So when he’s sitting across from Hank at their adjacent desks in the precinct, Connor closes his eyes and retreats to the Zen Garden. Amanda doesn’t come to guide him, but Connor doesn’t need her. He merely needs a moment to refocus, to forget all of the physical world’s tantalizing thrills.

He strolls methodically down the white path as he’s done dozens of times before. Instead of staring into Hank’s blue eyes, Connor casts his gaze across the colourful flowers shooting vividly up out of the grass, the pink cherry blossoms above him scattering rosy petals everywhere he looks. The quiet stream moves slowly by, and just before the far shore, the water breaks.

Hank emerges from it, tossing his head back to gasp in air, flicking little beads of water everywhere. They cascade around him like a fountain of pure crystals, painting his slicked-down hair with more iridescent jewels. He emerges slowly from the water, wading up onto the land, and Connor watches Hank’s creamy peach skin being steadily exposed. 

Connor swallows. The ducts in his mouth that replicate saliva have produced it too quickly. Hank shouldn’t be here. He knows it’s not really _Hank_ , merely a subroutine, a vision of his own making, plucked out of his head by his over-obsessed processors. It doesn’t change the way he stares at Hank’s broad back shimmering with water. Hank’s crotch finally breaches the surface, blessedly obscured by a navy blue bathing suit. But it’s still far too tight and clings to his plush thighs. Connor can easily make out the sculpted cheeks of his ass. Then it gets worse, because Hank turns towards him. 

Hank’s chest looks glorious in the artificial sunlight. His brown nipples are lightly pebbled, his furry stomach pouring slightly over his trunks, and the bulge there is _enormous_. The suit is glued to his housed cock and showing a perfect imprint, an outline that Connor’s mind built without any real data, and yet it brands into Connor’s corneas. Hank cocks a sly grin, as though he knows _exactly_ how badly Connor wants to suck on that hidden pipe. 

“Connor?”

Connor’s eyes dart open. The garden is gone, replaced with the office. Hanks brows are drawn together, and he mutters, “Are you blushing?”

Connor tries not to lie to his human. But he can’t say the truth, so instead he asks, “Do you own swim trunks, Lieutenant?”

Hank looks like Connor’s lost his mind. He grunts, “No.”

Before Connor can stop it, his program’s made the correction—Hank should be skinny-dipping. 

Hank shouldn’t be there at all. Sooner or later, Connor is going to have to deal with that rather obvious glitch in his program. 

But they have a case to crack, so Connor files his horrendously inappropriate feelings away and tries to get back to work.


End file.
